What Really Happened
by Akira Sage
Summary: Tate tells the story of what REALLY happened the night Violet died.


**Disclaimer – I don't own American Horror Story . . . clearly.**

J

As I wrote the words on her chalk board, I remembered the first time I had sat with her in this room. We talked about how we cut ourselves, and for what reasons. At that time, I hadn't loved her. It had merely been a crush. I had written "Taint" then, I'm still not sure why. Maybe to tell her in my own little way, that she was tainting my brain, absorbing my thoughts. The way you feel with a new crush. Now I wrote words with more meaning. "I love you"

It was true. I don't know when it had happened, but sometime between that first day in her bedroom and the very moment I was holding that chalk I fell deeply in love with Violet Harmon.

I figured she would be happy. For her to come home from school and find this waiting for her; a sweet surprise. And I'd play some of her favorite music for her, too. I had finally figured out that stupid iPod contraption. The Walkman was so much easier . . .

I looked out the window and saw her, about to enter the house. Why not have a little fun?

I ran down the stairs and hid behind a doorway. When she entered, I simply walked across the wall while she was turned the other way. She turned to where I had been; looking frightened. Couldn't 'scare her' my ass . . .

"Tate?" she asked in a weak voice. She turned the corner and I walked by her again. Once again, she turned; afraid. I went down into the basement. I heard her footsteps following me.

"Tate?" she repeated. "I'm not playing hide and seek, Tate! You have to leave, now!"

Well alright then . . . if she insisted.

I was back in her room now. I'm still not fully sure how that works, all I know is that one moment I can be on one side of the house, and the next on the other. Probably due to being a ghost . . . one of the few perks to being dead, I suppose; less walking.

I walked over to her iPod dock and turned it on, then I began scrolling through her songs, trying to find a good one. When I was satisfied, I slid under her bed to jump out and surprise her after she saw my message.

She came running into the room and shut off her iPod. That's weird; I'd figured she'd have left it on. She liked that song. I watched her feet, since I couldn't see her face from under her bed.

I saw that she was facing the chalk board. I was just about to slide out when I heard her . . . crying? Why was she crying? She sunk down, and I caught a quick look at her face. She wasn't just crying, she was sobbing. Now would probably be a good time to come out from under the bed and ask what was wrong . . .

Before I could though, she was on her feet again, walking around to the other side of her bed. I heard weird noises, like she was knocking things around. I heard her sharp intake of breath, and her hard swallowing. She began to walk again, this time she climbed onto her bed. The mattress bent like she was lying down. Why was she sleeping? It was the middle of the day . . .

I pulled myself out from under her bed and stood up. "Vi, what's—"

I stopped myself. That's when I saw it, sitting on her bed the way she had left it next to her; an empty bottle of pills and a water bottle. I looked at her, curled up on her bed.

_No, no, no!_ I grabbed her arms and shook her. She slid off the bed. I didn't have time to pick her up so instead I just grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

"Don't you die on me, Violet!" I yelled at her. It wasn't a request, it was a command. "Don't you die!"

What now? The bathroom! The cold shower would wake her up right? That's all I needed . . . to wake her up.

I pulled her against me and sat in the tub. "Don't you die on me!"

I turned on the cold water, she still wasn't moving. I screamed at her, "VIOLET!"

Nothing.

"Here." I shoved my fingers down her throat.

"Egh!" She leaned over and threw up. She was awake. She was alive. She was breathing . . . And crying, again.

I kissed the back of her head and tried to get her to calm down. I kept telling myself, _she's going to be okay._

A few minutes later, the crying stopped.

"Vi?" I asked, my voice sounded hoarse. I cleared my throat. "Are you okay?"

She didn't answer.

"Vi?" I repeated. Still nothing. "Violet!"

I shook her shoulders. The water was still pouring on us, and it was cold so I shut it off. "Violet, wake up!"

I gulped and held my hand over her mouth and nose. There was no breath. I waited for a few minutes. Still nothing.

"No, Violet!" I cried. "Come on, Violet, no!"

I tried pulling her out of the tub, laying her on the floor, holding her nose and breathing into her mouth. I pounded on her chest 1, 2, 3 times. Over and over . . . nothing . . .

_Only 7% of CPR attempts work outside of a medical facility_, the voice rang in my head. I had heard it before but I couldn't remember from where. School, probably . . .

But that didn't matter, all that mattered was that Violet was dead because of me. I made her sad and she overdosed. Then I couldn't save her when she needed me. Now she was gone, forever.

I stood up and left the bathroom. Her body was still there, but I couldn't look at it right now. What was I going to tell Dr. Harmon? What did that matter, anyway?

I absent mindedly walked back to her room—which used to be my own—and opened the door. I was totally soaked in water, vomit, and tears. Her's and mine.

When I entered the room, I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Yet, there she was, asleep on her bed, totally drenched, but breathing. How the hell . . .?

"Come now, Tate."

I turned around to see Moira, standing in the doorway, looking as slutty as always.

"What's going on?" I asked her.

"You're smarter than that, Tate," she told me. "Think about it. I've looked this way since you were what, six? Why is it that I haven't aged, Tate?"

"You're dead," I told her. "Just like me. We can't age."

"Good," she said. "Keep going. Now how did I die? According to the police, your father and I ran off to South America."

I gulped. "My mother killed you, didn't she?"

Moira nodded. "Your dad too . . . I'm sorry no one told you until now. But never mind that. Think of it like this, why are you still here?"

"Because I'm a ghost," I told her, she was making my head hurt. All I wanted to know what how Violet went from dead on the bathroom floor to alive in her bedroom, sleeping.

"As am I. And as is everyone else that died in this house since it was built, right?" she was nodding her head, like she wanted me to know what she was talking about.

"R-right," I said. "Because they all died here."

"_She_ died here," Moira said, pointing to the bed and looking satisfied. I looked at Violet.

"So that's Violet's . . . ghost?" I had trouble getting out the last word.

Moira nodded. "Now, I'll clean up the bathroom, you come up with a good story to tell Ben and Vivian . . ."

She began to walk out of the room

"Wait!" I called, stopping her by placing my shoulder on her hand. "I . . . let's not tell them."

"Are you crazy?" Moira asked me. "Well . . . crazier than usual?"

I shook my head. "No . . . I just can't tell Violet that she's dead. Not yet . . . I'll hide the body. Let them think she's alive. Please, help me Moira."

She leaned against the door frame, twisting a strand of hair as she thought. Finally she spoke. "Fine. There's a crawl space in the basement big enough . . . Spray some Febreeze when you're done."

J

I tried not to look at her body as I carried it down into the basement. No one saw me, no one else was home.

"Tate, what's that?" Troy asked when I reached the bottom of the stairs.

"What does it look like, dumb ass?" I replied. I wasn't in the mood.

"No," he said, sounding a little scared. "I mean what did do to her."

I looked at him and his brother. They had been stuck here since before I could walk or talk. My eyes were stuck on their necks. Infantata had done it . . .

"I didn't do anything," I told them. "She O.D.'d. Don't tell her, either. She's not going to know she's dead yet."

"Why not?" Bryan asked. "Why not tell her the truth?"

"Because I want her to be happy," I told them. "If you ever fall in love, you'll understand."

"Love?"

"Yuck!"

They ran off then, back to their happy selves, throwing snaps with every step. I wished I had died at their age, so I never lost that childlike innocence that keeps you from being attracted to other people in a more-than-friends way.

I tried to think about Violet's smile as I dragged her body through the crawl space. The ceiling was too low to stand and carry her. I felt awful, her final resting place would include her hair knotted, her clothes damp and smelly, covered in throw up . . . It was awful.

I put her in a spot where no one would find her. I thought about uncurling her legs and arms, shutting her mouth and closing her eyes, but I couldn't stand to be in the presence of the body any longer. I ran out.

J

The next day, I had to see her. I had to talk to her . . . it couldn't wait.

She was sitting on her bed, reading a book. It looked familiar . . . about birds.

"I like birds too," I told her.

She looked up, unsurprised that I was there. As if she had been expecting me. I hoped she didn't remember . . . "Why do you like them?"

"'Cause they can fly away when things get too crazy, I guess," I replied. She looked down.

I swallowed hard. This was going to be tough . . . I wished I was a bird right then, to I could fly away from this stupid problem. Well, I wish I was a living bird anyway. "Are you going to tell you parents?"

She looked confused.

"'Bout the pills," I added.

She shook her head. "No . . . I've been sleeping a lot. They think I'm depressed?"

"Are you?" I asked right away. This wasn't supposed to happen . . . she was supposed to be happy.

"I'm sad," she said.

I nodded slowly. "Me too."

I felt tears stinging my eyes. This was my fault. She was dead because of me. I held her in my arms and let her die . . . "Violet . . . something's changed in you. You're distant . . . cold."

She just stared back at me. I continued, "and I don't know what I've done—" Liar. I let her die. "—but I'll leave you alone from now on, if that's what you want."

She didn't say anything. Maybe she didn't feel the same way about me as I did her, maybe that's why she killed herself. Maybe she wanted me to just go away and leave her alone forever. "Is that what you want?"

She still didn't say anything. I decided to tell her the full truth about the way I felt, I owed her that much. "You know why I'd leave you alone? 'Cause I care about your feelings more than mine."

She was crying too now. I made her cry again. I didn't want to make her cry anymore . . .

"I love you. There I said it, and not just on some chalk board." Maybe if I had said it to her before she wouldn't have done what she did . . . maybe if I had said it to her face . . . "I would never let anybody, or anything hurt you. I've never felt that way about anyone."

She didn't say anything for a second. Then, she adjusted herself and gestured to the spot next to her. "Come here."

I climbed over her bed, not bothering to walk around, and lay down next to her. She wrapped her arms around me and I held her hand.

"I tired," I told her. Staying up all night stashing a body really takes it out of you . . .

"Me too," she said. Together we drifted to sleep, trying not to think about how much life sucked.


End file.
